


On the Edge

by Crystallinee



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Dark Knight (2008)
Genre: F/M, Ledger!Joker, Nolanverse, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-06
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2018-08-19 22:46:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8227339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crystallinee/pseuds/Crystallinee
Summary: After accidentally meeting the Joker, Harleen Frances' life takes a new turn and her obsession grows. She becomes Harley Quinn, the strongest piece on the board.  NOLANVERSE  Joker x Harley Quinn. Set after The Dark Knight.





	1. Instinct

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time trying out another version of Harley x Joker, just to see how it feels. Set after The Dark Knight. Nolanverse.
> 
> The Joker is based on Heath Ledger's performance. I imagine Brittany Murphy as my Harley Quinn, but it's up to you.

 

_I don't know how to express that being with someone so dangerous was the last time I felt safe.  
\- Janet Fitch, White Oleander_

 

* * *

She is not afraid of the scars.

Maybe that's what makes her different in his eyes, maybe not. Maybe that's why he decided to see if she could stick around. To see if she will eventually run like the others, cringing in fear and disgust. So many others, men and women alike, have seen his face and been repulsed. Most of them died.

Because that face belongs to a monster, Gotham's self-proclaimed ruler. When he grins and flashes yellow teeth, enhanced by white greasepaint and lipstick, people run and scream. She knows that no one sees him like she does; no one can see who's really beneath all that face-paint.

Most of the time she doesn't know either; he has told her so many different stories by now. He has a thousand different pasts, a thousand masks and veils to hide his true self behind. But no matter what facade he picks for the time being, she sees him differently than the rest. She is not afraid of his closeness or his distance, his laughter and violent outbursts. She remains standing still, taking whatever comes her way.

And isn't he gorgeous with the city burning behind him, orange flames matches his purple suit and gives it a stunning color. A thoughtful expression on his face at what he has just accomplished.

Knife in hand, absently twisting it, his mind has scattered again and he is somewhere else, already thinking about the next, vague step in his plans. The city is in the palm of his hand with no effort at all. He stands there, shoulders slightly hunched, and watches the fireworks in the distance.

His face can twist into a million different expressions depending on his mood, on what he has set himself to. Mostly he is so turned into himself that he doesn't even notice her presence, but when he does, she feels it to the very core of her bones.

With him, Harley feels bare. Completely open, as if he has cut her up, shredding all the walls she could possibly build up. Even with her own white makeup covering her face, red lipstick and black eye shadow circling her eyes, she feels stripped.

Now she waits patiently for him to make a move, for his usual hyper-alertness and restlessness to return. Their days are crazy, unpredictable to the point she can't keep track of anything, night turning into day and day into night. She has been with him for a year now, more or less, she doesn't even know why she is still alive. She has seen the world in front of her crumble and collapse; she has seen him pushing through it with brute force and gasoline. She has hardened, built up a perfect shell from everything else.

Her skin is always bruised somehow, covered with nasty scrapes and deep cuts, from the wild life they are leading, from being too close to him. She is used to landing on her head, breaking her bones.

The sight of an entire block with buildings collapsing to the left brings Joker back to the present. His head moves a bit from side to side, shaking his faded green tresses, muttering something to himself. Then he spots her, standing a few feet away.

She feels the familiar surge of fear run through her for a moment before it melts away into scorching hot calm. Holding her mallet in her hands, loosely, shifting her weight between her feet, waiting. Maybe he doesn't even remember how she ended up there with him, it doesn't matter. The entire night might have slipped past him unnoticed – it wouldn't be the first time. He just acts, never reflecting, and suddenly finds himself standing on a rooftop or in an alley somewhere with blood on his shoes. She has seen it before, the small expression of surprise on his face before he shrugs and moves on with life. He never gets stuck on anything, moving through every second in a neck-breaking speed.

And now when his dark eyes have settled upon her, she knows it's a moment of fate, flipping the coin. She waits, and he stalks towards her in long strides, determined again.

"Harlee _eey_ , why so serious?"

That line has been repeated a thousand times, always introducing various acts of violence and slaughter, but with her he takes a slightly different tone. Still testing her, eyes moving rapidly, lips splitting into a grin. He speaks jerkily, throatily. "It's such a _beautiful_ night."

Another block of buildings collapses like a house of cards. He nods to himself, listening to the sounds of it, the tremors in the ground as the explosions fill the air behind them and light up the night sky.

She is staring at his face now, at the blood running down his temple. It mixes with the white greasepaint, the red smearing along his scars, but he seems completely oblivious to it. Not even a bullet in his body can faze him.

He doesn't like it when she stares. A moment later her chin is roughly grasped in his hand, his knife underneath her jaw line. She makes no move to pull back, swallowing the discomfort and staring calmly into his eyes. Sometimes, when she is angry, she puts up a fight and challenges him, and it always end up with her bloody and him laughing.

She wonders where the blood comes from and she wants to check him over to make sure it's not too serious, but it would not end well.

He jerks his head to the side, his stare deepening and nailing her down, violent in its very nature. She has feared his eyes before; they seem like bottomless black pits. She knows he thinks she is staring at the scars; that she is finally afraid of him, finally going to run away.

Not that he'd let her. But a part of her knows he doesn't _want_ her to.

Yes, he thinks she finally sees his scars for what they are, and that thought is the only thing that really gets to him. A trace of pity in her eyes and he would strangle her.

Unlike everyone else, Harley doesn't squirm or struggle in his grip. She stares at him, keeping her gaze steady and her breathing calm, feeling the knife against her skin. Its pressure increases slightly, prickling the skin. Something inside of her has always been stronger than her fear for him; her _need_ for him.

She doesn't plan on living without him, he is her entire world, and her heart beats faster in fear when she slips and even _thinks_ of him wounded, dead, gone. He is hurt, he couldn't care less, and one day he might just walk right into an explosion and never come back.

His breathing is ragged, uneven, as he presses the knife to her throat. After what feels like an eternity, she reaches up a hand, half expecting him to slash her wrist. She doesn't take her eyes off of him for a moment.

He lets her place a hand on his face, feeling warm skin beneath the paint. Tenderly, Harley wipes the blood away from his brow and keeps it from running into his eyes. It's emerging from a sticky place in his hair, mixing with his dark roots.

He is watching her, his gaze hard and unpredictable, his jaw moving to the side.

Still keeping her hand on his face, she leans closer. The knife is pressing harder against her skin, she resists the urge to back away and waits out the agonizing moments.

Then her mouth is on his, he is the one who lets her. He kisses her harshly and she reaches up on her tip-toes. The knife is withdrawn from her neck, but still in his grip. She presses herself flush against him. Knowing he could kill her any second or leave her with a new, gushing wound, she never wants to play it safe – if he wants to, he can do it anytime.

She is in his arms, on a rooftop three o'clock in the morning, police sirens blasting in the distance, the sound of concrete falling together somewhere else, everything is frail and her life is flickering away.

She feels him press himself against her, roughly. Her heart beats strongly in her chest, reminding her of the fact that she is _still_ alive. The kiss is bruising, violent, like always. She flicks her tongue over his rough scars; he pushes his face against hers, she accepts him and treasures every inch, every scar tissue of his.

He often talks about the scars, but never what made him like this. She is allowed to touch them, _sometimes_ , with her life at stake, never stare at them, never show any emotion to the sight of them.

Secretly, Harley loves them. They are a part of him that she wouldn't trade. His soul is too complex for words, there is a raw, sharp-edged beauty to him. Even now with his face streaked with blood, real skin showing through, hurt and worn-down, eyes gleaming with the desire to kill, he is _breathtaking_.

He pulls apart too soon, laughing darkly, as he turns towards the city again. She stands behind him, silent, waiting for the dust to settle and dawn to conquer. He is impatient to get back to work, to plunge his knife through flesh, for real this time.

She brushes ashes away from her clothing. It's time to move.

She would die for him, but that bores him. So she lives for him instead.

 


	2. I Got Edges That Scratch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harley's first encounter with the Joker.

_**  
**_

**One Year Earlier**

 

She sat with her back against the wall, her legs drawn up to her chest. That way she could not be surprised from behind. The kitchen knife trembled in her grip. She kept it pointed outwards, aimed at the door. Her head hurt more than it used to, a dull, hellish ache that just wouldn't disappear.

The bruises on her knees and arms made it painful to sit in that position, but she would be damned if she ever let her guard down. When her boyfriend returned, and she knew he would, this time she would kill him for sure. Just like she would do to her dad, if she ever found him. That thought kept her focused, that she might run into him eventually – and when she did, she'd make it worthwhile.

She had been sitting like that for hours, her entire body going numb, staring at her own reflection in the mirror above the sink.

 _You look like shit_ , Jonny would say and grab her hair harshly. She felt a sick smile creep onto her face at the thought. The dark circles of makeup surrounding her eyes and smudged over her cheeks, together with her torn up hair, really made her look like a Psycho Bitch from hell. Just the look she was going for.

Her split and swollen lips revealed teeth that could bite hard. Her face was the last thing he would ever see, and she would laugh – _this bitch killed your pathetic ass._ She adjusted her position, impatience creeping up her skin. By waiting in the bathroom, which was in the very far corner of the apartment, opposite side from the front door, she would have time to hear him come.

She heard steps, the front door was opened harshly. Her body tensed up and her knuckles turned white.

There were some muffled sounds, something was turned over, it sounded like a muted fight. Maybe he brought some of his drunk so-called friends. She tightened her fingers around the handle of the knife until it hurt, prepared to see him stalk through the door, ready to slam her to the ground. She would strike faster.

Like a cat, she would pounce. The lingering hang-over would make it harder to keep her balance, but it was all about being quick enough. She was swift when she wanted to be, lithe and flexible, while he was sturdy and heavy. She had decided to go for his stomach, so he would have time to realize what was happening.

The muffled sounds continued, but they were far away from the bathroom.

Somebody was... _laughing_. Eerily, chilly, it definitely wasn't Jonny. She slammed her head back against the tiled wall, with just enough force to numb the world for a moment. Last time she checked she didn't have auditory hallucinations.

That would have been just another talent to add to the resume of Frances Harleen Quinzel, as they called her in their journals and registers. The teenage addict, courtesy of foster homes and living on the street. _Frances._ She hated that name. A stupid, old name her mother gave her sometime long ago, a family name. Ironic.

She was not Frances. Frances had died the moment she left the rehabilitation unit. She had required to be called Harleen instead. It still sounded stupid, but it was better than that grandmother name that her various foster parents and social workers had called her.

Her boyfriend used to call her Harley. She liked it, she liked _him._ For a while.

There were steps and movement outside of the door now. Someone was screaming. Her head perched up slightly. _That_ was definitely Jonny.

The door was flown open, crashing against the opposite wall. Unprepared, she moved further back against the corner next to the bath tub.

The man standing there was definitely not Jonny. He was tall, clad in a green vest, gray shirt underneath and purple pants. Greasy green hair in strong contrast to his white-painted face. He had her boyfriend's back pressed to his chest, one of his arms sneaked underneath his neck and almost choking him.

"You mind, uh, lending me that?" The white-faced man nodded at her knife. A hazy part of her brain recognized his face from somewhere; that Chelsea grin smeared with red paint. She knew what he was called. The Joker.

She didn't move; her mind was so clogged up she couldn't really work out his request. She just tightened her grip on the knife, pointing it at him.

"Harley!" Jonny called panic-stricken, struggling in his grip. His eyes almost popped out of their sockets.

The Joker smacked his tongue. "I'm in a little, uh, _hurry_ , Harley."

She shakily got to her feet, still keeping her back attached to the wall.

The intruder sighed dramatically and moved forward, dragging the struggling Jonny with him. He reached out a purple gloved hand. Harley handed him the knife and immediately moved backwards again, only to find the wall pressed against her back.

"Thank _you_ ," he said and offered her a yellow grin.

There was no use in thinking what this man in clown makeup was doing in her home, choking her boyfriend. So she watched, dull interest stirring in her as Jonny pleaded for his life. The Joker pressed him up against the wall next to the sink as if he was nothing more than a sack of meat, putting the knife to his mouth. The intruder looked so slender compared to Jonny's sturdy frame but he was strong.

"You see… Jimmy?"

"J-Jonny." Jonny was too afraid to look straight at him.

"Oh well, Jonny, you see, I'm the type of guy who sends postcards to my friends." He sneered. "And _your_ friends, ah, they just aren't funny anymore. They _forgot_ something, you see? So I'm gonna leave them a little message…"

Jonny desperately tried to get out of his grip. "Harley! Fuck, do something!" he demanded, panic in his eyes.

"Shhhhhhhhh." The Joker stroked his face with the knife. Then he gave Harley an incredulous look over his shoulder. "Aren't ya gonna scream, doll? Your _squeeze_ is gonna be the, uh, _happiest_ man in Gotham."

She didn't move.

Shrugging, he turned back to Jonny and inserted the knife in the corner of his mouth. He muttered to himself and his brow furrowed.

"This is _dull_. You ever been mauled by a bear?" A grin crept onto his white face. Jonny trembled, gasping. Joker sighed and leaned forward.

"Want another knife?" Harley said, looking at him expressionlessly.

"Well _yes_ ," he turned and gave her a wide grin. "Can never have too many."

He was still expecting her to scream, run or break down. Maybe she would have, but she had a killer headache and her legs felt like overcooked spaghetti, which wouldn't take her very far. Besides, watching Jonny beg for his life was oddly satisfying.

Harley eased down to the floor, keeping an eye on him from the corner of her eye as she bent down and reached an arm underneath the bathtub. She let her hand wander for a moment before it closed around the handle of a smaller knife. She had prepared well for today.

She pulled it out and straightened up into a sitting position, leaning against the wall. She threw it at the clown and he caught it gracefully.

He turned back to Jonny, dropped the other knife and put the new one to his face.

" _Smile_."

Jonny made a muffled sound, and then the knife split the corners of his mouth.

Harley remained unmoving, secretly grasping another knife she had retrieved, keeping it behind her back. A part of her was quite pleased with the way Jonny spluttered and gasped for air.

Then the Joker simply dropped him, and Jonny fell to the floor with a heavy thud.

The painted man turned to Harley for a moment, giving her a passive stare and raising his eyebrows incredulously, before turning around. He left the room, walking in long and slow strides, not in the least concerned that he had just turned his back against her.

How reckless. Harley had learned something at the various institutions she had spent her life at – if you turn your back against someone who might have a beef with you, they're gonna take that chance.

But maybe, it showed in his posture, he was just so confident of himself that he was sure no one would ever take him on willingly.

Harley got to her feet, her mind slowly working out what had just happened. Jonny was no longer responsive, his body jerking and seizing. The knife must have gone into his throat, and she had no interest in staying to watch him die.

She stepped over his body and stumbled out in the small, dimly lit hallway. Somewhere she was starting to realize it. She recognized that man beyond a name. She couldn't remember the last time she had opened a newspaper or watched the TV, but people _talked_ about him. The Clown.

Gotham's terrorist clown had killed Jonny.

Jonny must have been involved with him somehow – it didn't surprise her, considering all that booze and drugs he had got his hands on and the shady 'friends' he brought home every other night.

The next step was unavoidable. What now?

She saw the Joker heading for the front door, whistling a tune. Still holding her knife in his hand, and she was not about to ask him to give it back.

Harley forced herself to focus, to keep her vision straight as she stood in the other end of the hallway. A part of her knew it was probably suicide to push her luck any further, but she honestly didn't care.

"Hey, wait."

"Hm?" He stopped abruptly, as if he had completely forgotten about her presence. Then he slowly turned around.

Harley straightened up and for the first time she felt her heartbeat react. With the war paint on his mutilated face he was supposed to be terrifying, but it wasn't as repulsive as people said.

"Thanks."

The Joker burst out laughing, almost wheezing. She stood completely still, watching him.

"Oh, aren't you a _doll_?" He moved over to her, grabbing her face in his free hand. His pitch black eyes bore into hers, taunting her harshly: _Why don't you run and scream?_

His fingers dug into her cheek bones uncomfortably. He was taller than her and towering over her. She wondered how he had ended up here, in Jonny's small apartment, without his coat. But stranger things had happened.

"You'd look pretty with a face like your, uh, boyfriend," he informed her, showing her the knife he still held.

Harley gave him a wry smile. "I was planning on killing him anyway."

He raised his eyebrows, a look of amusement in his eyes. He let go of her chin and took a step back, looking her abused body up and down as if he was internally debating whether she would be able to ever kill someone. "Doesn't look like there's much fight in you."

Her head cleared up with the pulsing adrenaline. "If you run out of knives, I've got a supply. You can borrow some if you want." _Consider it my thanks._

At this, he started cackling in amusement again. "You're a funny one, _Harley_. Ha. Ha. Ha."

He took a step back, heading towards the door again. His tongue darted out to lick his scars, his eyes moving around the shabby room. "I _might_ just take you up on that offer." His fingers, white and smudged at the tips, placed a torn Joker card on top of a pile of junk.

He gave her a menacing look that almost bore straight through her head, and she realized why he had let her live.

"Make sure the word gets out there, dollface. Jonnyboy's little _friends_ have a big surprise coming."

Then he was gone.

Harley didn't realize that she had essentially worked for him, until she had managed to get Jonny's body out of the apartment. She had covered him in black plastic bags she found in the kitchen and waited until night, before dragging his body to the front door. He was even heavier in rigor mortis and her arms ached from the exertion.

Jonny's apartment was located in the shadiest possible part of Gotham, and the shabby apartment complex mostly consisted of junkies or people who never showed their faces in daylight. She managed to get one of her neighbors, the friendliest junkie, to help her carry Jonny's corpse down the stairs. He didn't ask any questions, but they all had seen worse things.

Harley dragged his body as far as she could by taking a shortcut through a narrow alley. Finally she dumped him in an alleyway where the right people were bound to find him sooner or later. Hopefully his piece of shit friends would be the first to discover him.

She removed the plastic bags so that his body was exposed, then stuck the Joker card in his mouth.

There. All done.

She had stuck even more knives into her pants before she went out, prepared to finally get rid of the built-up pressure in her chest if anyone dared to cross her. But the sight of her, bloody, black and blue, seemed to keep the thugs away for the time being.

When she returned home she was too riled up to sleep, so she assembled her knives, needles, a hammer and various other items she had collected, just in case any of Jonny's friends would show up. She had an enormous supply of weapons hidden in the apartment.

She drew a bath and sank down in the bathtub, grasping the kitchen knife Joker had used.

She would be waiting.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback and comments are very welcome!


	3. I Don't Know What I'm On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone's back again, tell a friend.

_Once I had been someone. But that person faded, violently, bleaching away like dust. I did not know who I was, until I found him. Then it didn't matter anymore. Frances Harleen Quinzel or Harley Quinn. Take your pick.  
_

 

She didn't know what her plan was after she disposed of Jonny. Her entire mindset had been focused on just _getting rid of him_ , and now she didn't know what to do. On the other hand, she had never had been the type to plan too far ahead.

Harley rolled out of bed in the afternoon, when the sun had sunk low enough to tease her through the blinds. Her head was pounding again, her body craving and stinging uncomfortably. Blinking the drowsiness away, she rummaged through the boxes with junk that Jonny had dumped in the apartment, the secret staff of his so-called friends.

She found a lone cigarette and brought it up with trembling fingers, impatiently grasping the lighter and inhaling deeply when the smoke filled her lungs. She was able to breathe again, the world coming into focus. The small remains of a bottle of whiskey proved perfect company. Her stomach was empty but a smoke effectively took the edge off the hunger, a mellow low that was more comfortable.

At first she had no recollection of the previous day, until she strolled into the bathroom. The blood was smeared on the wall and it took her hazy mind a few moments before she recalled – then it hit her like a truck.

A white-painted face, yellow teeth and a knife. Oh. God.

A sensation she couldn't quite place tingled in her stomach when she stared at the bloody patterns. It was not particularly uncomfortable, but her heart beat harder. Jonny had been murdered by no one other than Gotham's notorious killer clown. Yet the memory of him wasn't that bad – she had seen more grotesque things just by having pot brownies.

 _Is he coming back?_ What would she do then? _  
_

Oh right; she had to prepare. Jonny's shitty 'friends' would be at her door soon enough. She was convinced they were more dependent on him than she had ever been. She didn't even know why she had agreed to move in with him in the first place, as the apartment had been more of a community place for various illegal activities. She had grown tired of her boyfriend in a matter of weeks, but it had taken a while before her urge to kill him had been a necessity out of self defense rather than boredom and drunkenness.

When she had regained her focus, Harley assembled a bucket and a gross-smelling rag and brought it to the bathroom. She caught a glimpse of herself in the cracked mirror – dirty blonde hair, dark at the roots, barely reaching past her shoulders, not washed for several days. Days old make up dried into her skin, deep shadows beneath her eyes – she looked like Frances again. It was so like her to get into this mess.

She started to aggressively scrub Jonny's blood from the floor and walls, pouring chemical cleaner all over the place until her eyes stung.

That was when the pounding on the door started.

She skillfully ignored it and stuffed the rag and bucket away in a cabinet. If she could just keep the cops off her back she could stay in the apartment for a while longer until she figured out where to go. Her job in a cheap club didn't pay much, and without Jonny's drug dealing on the side, she would soon have a problem. She had spent most of her savings on her psychology textbooks but the loose plan of university was slipping away again.

She carefully made sure all traces of the previous day were erased. The place was already a shit pile, but the most prominent bathroom surfaces were squeaky clean when she was done with them. They could cover the place with their cotton swabs and ultraviolet light if they wanted – she would be gone by then, anyway. If only she could find out where the hell Jonny stashed his income.

Her life was already better since he left the world. Harley threw out all empty bottles she could find – through the window, as she still refused to open the front door. The pounding and steps outside returned occasionally. She killed some time throwing out more of Jonny's belongings, waiting for dark. She couldn't fight it; a stupid, senseless anticipation that left her restless.

_He knows where you live. What if he comes back?_

The sickest part of it all was that she didn't mind.

It was a completely illogical response, as if her reptile brain and most basic instincts had short-circuited. What would keep that man from killing her too, just for fun? She had heard the stories about him. What if he decided he didn't want any witnesses to his act?

When night came, Harley was fully alert, checking she had her knives in new hiding places. She wondered if she was supposed to do something; _"make sure the word gets out there"_. As the hours dragged by she got tenser, flinching at every sound outside, but nothing happened. Only the pounding and steps returning now and then.

The following night was carried out in the same manner, and the days that followed. She left the apartment to go to work, if only not to rouse suspicion. She had witnessed the cops forcibly enter another apartment in the complex once because the man who lived there had disappeared from the surface of the earth – his body was later found in a dumpster.

If the landlord decided to do a checkup she would be in deep shit. So she served the drinks and gave distant smiles, her mind just spinning around one thing. Most of her life was done on autopilot, it had always been like that. Drugs were not the way out, but the way _in_.

She carefully avoided all places where Jonny's friends might be and kept her head low when she passed anyone by, tightening her grip around the knife in her purse. An uncomfortable tenseness had settled in her, impossible to ignore.

About a week after Jonny's death when she had just got home from a quick trip to town and was about to leave for work, the pounding on the door started again. This time it was accompanied by the sound of something hitting the lock. Harley stood on the other side, swinging her keys.

"FUCK OFF, BRIAN!"

He cursed at her through the door. "What did you do to Jonny, bitch? Is he in there with you?"

"Yeah, I'm nailing him to my wall right now."

A loud thud and shout – Brian must have kicked the door.

"I swear I'll come in there and get him myself!"

"Go right ahead! I would bash your brains in, if you had any!"

"Say that to my face, bitch!"

Harley threw her purse onto the bed. She was not in the mood to force the door open and stab him just so the customers could grope her all night. Brian wasn't alone – he would never dare – and she wasn't focused enough to take them all on. If she walked out the door she would murder his ass and she wouldn't be able to cover it up.

She let her hair fall out of its messy updo, poured a glass of whiskey and lit another cigarette, sighing loudly as Brian shouted profanities at her and banged on the door.

"Who's in there? Why are there cards everywhere?"

 _Cards?_ Harley withdrew silently from the door, drifting out into the small living room and putting on the television to distract herself. _This is getting too much._

This tenseness never left her at night, leaving her like a rubber band about to snap. Why did he leave playing cards outside her door? Was it a warning or territorial mark? She glanced at the small TV screen as she had another glass, effectively numbing the tension from getting too sharp. Her text books were open on the table, but she couldn't focus.

GCN regularly mentioned the Joker; it had started with his violent break-out from Arkham Asylum about three weeks ago. Before that, there had been silence for a couple of months; Gotham had been spared from explosions, threats and hostages while he was detained. Only one report of a murder from within Arkham had slipped out, but that was quickly covered up. Now he was back, and apparently knew how to get around without being detected.

Her lower stomach clenched as she imagined Brian's pounding suddenly exchanged with something else – slow, confident steps pacing the old floor boards. Her pulse quickened again.

When the pounding had disappeared and everything had been silent for a good hour, she decided to call it a day. She stripped herself of her red tank top and black torn miniskirt then carelessly threw the clothes on the floor, grabbed her glass and went to draw a bath.

If only she could just forget about this whole thing and focus on the next step. Survival was about handling each moment when it came rather than planning ahead, but for once she needed some kind of plan. She knew the Joker hated plans, yet he must have had one if he actually came back to leave a card. Y _ou're obsessed, Harley. Cut it out._

She sank down deep in the bathtub and leaned her head back against the cold porcelain surface. It was nice to not have to think, and her head grew drowsier. She was on her own again. Nothing to hold her back.

"Knock, knock."

Harley jumped suddenly and spilled half the water outside with a splash. She coughed violently, choking on cold water. It filled her throat, her eyes and nose, and she struggled furiously for breath. She leaned over the edge of the tub and spat the water out, shaking wet hair out of her face. Disoriented, unaware of how long she had been drifting off.

When she had cleared her sight and looked up with rushing heart, she immediately recognized that scarred face. His red mouth was split with great amusement.

"Ya know," he drawled, the corners of his mouth twitching, "If ya want to off yourself, there are _funnier_ ways to do it." He gave her an almost judgmental look. "This is _boring_ , beyond unimaginative. I'm disappointed."

Harley stumbled out of the bathtub and grabbed the nearest towel, knocking over her whiskey glass, drenched and heavy. She wrapped it around herself, her feet covered in liquor. Her movements felt slow, like she was underwater.

Joker was leaning against the door frame with his hands in his pockets, clad in his purple coat and full suit, his eyebrows raised as he watched her with malevolent amusement. His eyes glinted darkly: "There are endless possibilities, and you go for the _easiest_. Are you so enslaved to the _rules_ , Harley?"

She blinked one, two, three times, trying to keep her balance and keep up with his words.

_Gotham's finest terrorist is standing in your bathroom. Come on Harley, run and scream!_

He kept his gaze fixed on her. She remained unmoving, dripping with water as she tried to process his words through her sluggish mind. Their second encounter and she was once again stuck in her own bathroom, intoxicated. She tried to hide the mixed emotions over seeing him again, most of all the annoyance and embarrassment. He must have seen her naked.

"What do you want?" Her heart was hammering in her chest, spreading warmth and adrenaline throughout her body.

"Oh," he said, feigning offended, "I wanted to pay you a little visit, for old time's sake. " He flashed a yellow grin and she realized that he was expecting her to be scared, once again. His tone was not friendly; everything was a game, his words dripping with malice. Removing his hands from his pockets and flexing them, finally looking away from her, he drawled:

"Seems it was a little… _untimely_."

She wished she had a weapon at hand, remembering she had removed the ones she had stashed beneath the tub. She was at a marked disadvantage with her head swimming and this murderous clown at her door step _again._

_Why does this always happen to me?_

She watched him carefully, grasping the wall for support, her other hand clenched around the towel covering her. "Yeah - Actually, you interrupted me." She didn't know why she was saying that now, but a couple of drinks made her street smartness shut down effectively.

"I can help you out with that," he offered, and then he suddenly had her old knife in his hand.

"No thanks." Harley blinked rapidly as she pondered her escape route. The Joker was standing next to the bathroom door and there were no windows to escape through. She would have to pass through him. He watched her face as she contemplated, she saw in the way he tilted his head slightly and raised his brow that he enjoyed it. Just another weak and panic-stricken human, a mouse cornered by a lion.

She decided on a different approach. "My offer still stands. I have some new knives, they're in the kitchen cabinets. Can you please get out of here now?"

He took a step closer and she tensed up. "Ya know, you really are a funny one." She couldn't read his expression beneath that war paint. As he took yet another step in her direction, she started regretting her words. "I did what you said, everyone knows you killed Jonny."

A noise from outside the bathroom caught her attention, but she kept her eyes fixated on the Joker, not letting him use the distraction to his advantage. Those dark orbs were strangely expressionless, glazed over - or maybe it was just the lower part of his face that controlled all of his expressions.

He slowly tilted his head to the side. "Nightly visitors?"

Harley finally broke their eye contact. "It's a guy who knew Jonny. Let me take care of him."

He didn't move but made no attempt to stop her when she hurried past him, catching a smell of sweat and gunpowder. She ran into her bedroom, threw the towel away and put on the closest things she found, a pair of shorts and a loose halterneck shirt. Her heartbeat hammered in her ear as she wrenched the shirt over her head and onto her body.

She was barely out in the hallway again when the lock to the front door finally gave in. Brian burst into the apartment, glaring daggers at her. "I know what you did to Jonny, you whore!"

Harley picked up the baseball bat she had hid behind the largest cardboard boxes. "You're next, big boy."

"No, we're not done yet," Brian smiled at her, clenching his fists as he threw himself at her. Harley struck him and he fell over, roaring. He grabbed hold of her ankles and dragged her to the ground. Just as she wriggled furiously to free herself from his grip, a stinging pain in her scalp made her flinch.

She realized that Joker was holding her head upright by a fistful of her hair, and her entire head stung. He chuckled delightfully when she squirmed. She stopped struggling and instead glared at Brian.

"You! You're... you're with _him_!" Brian spat.

"With who?" Harley breathed, a slow smile on her lips despite the burning in her scalp.

"The clown!" he exclaimed and tried to wriggle to his feet and run towards the door, but Harley held on to his ankles.

"At-ta-ta, not so quickly," Joker grinned at him. "The lady has been _dying_ to see you."

He released Harley's head suddenly and her forehead almost hit the floor. She quickly turned around and glared at him, before picking up the baseball bat.

She turned against Brian again, breathing heavily. The adrenaline made her senses sharpen, she could distinguish the dried bloody pattern on the rug from Jonny's body, smell the latent smoke from Brian's mouth and the gunpowder on the Joker.

"I suppose you got my card?" the Joker spoke, friendly again, as if he was having a business meeting with the two of them.

"What do you want?" Brian roared, backing slowly.

"What do you want?" Harley repeated calmly, glancing back at the Joker while tightening her grip on her baseball bat.

"We have a position to fill, but _unfortunately_ , only one spot is open." In the corner of her vision, Harley saw him shrug, and the warmth spread in her chest again.

She didn't wait for Brian to get a chance to catch up before she advanced on him, beating his head into the wall. Joker burst out laughing hysterically at the sight of them. Brian threw himself on top of her, clawing at her chest and face, and the bat rolled out of her hands. Harley buried her nails into his neck and struggled to get her knee between his legs. When she did, Brian let go of her, screaming, and she hit him again until he was unconscious.

"Welcome to the club, Harley," Joker announced absently as he paced around her apartment in long strides. He checked the piles of cardboard boxes and occasionally picked up an object he fancied - a lighter, a newspaper, a red marker, and slipped them into his pockets. He mumbled to himself, too low and incoherently for her to catch up.

Harley slowly got up from the floor, ignoring her stinging scalp and wounded skin.

"Wait, what? Am I working for you now?"

He stopped in his tracks and gave her an annoyed look over his shoulder, as if he had forgotten she was there. He then headed to the front door, not sparing her glance, but Harley stood in his way, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

"I want to know if I'm working for you, Joker."

He walked over to her in one swift movement, standing so close their chests were almost pressed together. He hovered above her, and her pulse raced again, not helped by the fact that she barely reached to the top of his shoulder.

"No need to be so _formal_ ," he taunted and let his tongue absently sweep over his lips. "The boys will come around in a bit and dump some things. If you don't prefer to join little Brian over here?" He made a menacing gesture towards the man in question.

"Just tell me what to do." Harley met his eyes without blinking.

A few seconds he stared straight back, then he smiled, wide and terrifying. He unexpectedly ruffled her hair, then retreated so quick she wasn't sure he had actually moved. "You're gonna be a show, little Harlequin," he mused, and skipped through the door, whistling a menacing tune.

Harley was left in the open hallway, and she couldn't stop smiling.

* * *

 

**To be continued.**


	4. It's Officially Over Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for graphic violent content, in the same style as the original movie.

"All the other others they'll just fade to black  
When you think you have me's when I don't look back  
Keep on laughing, callin' after me  
Keep on laughing, I'm just free"  
_\- Becomes The Color - Emily Wells  
_

* * *

 

"Ya know… there really _is_ no such thing as _in_ sanity."

She stood behind him on the roof, a silent protector to her liege. One knife stuck in her boot and one at her waist, a gun in her holster, listening to his words.

He sat with his back against her and the world, carelessly dangling his legs over the edge, as if he knew that she would never let anyone touch him. She couldn't read him or know what was going on in his mind, happy for any little breadcrumbs of hints, what his plan was.

Joker leaned out, gazing at the ground ten stores below, his figure dimly illuminated by the light from the surrounding buildings. "Y'know, if your thinkin's _outside_ the norm… then you're _in_ sane. If you don't fit, you must change, or _dis_ appear. The best way for them to get _rid_ of you, is to call you _craaazy_." He put both hands behind him and leaned back, merrily whistling a tune.

Harley remained standing behind him, silently watching the city move down below, always keeping her eyes open for a certain shadow. Joker was unconcerned, but she couldn't stop the flurry of worry in her chest whenever she saw a dark movement on the streets. Batman had become her concern quicker than she ever thought he could be, knowing his interference would definitely put a stop to whatever was going on now.

She couldn't even imagine going back to her old life. Two months she had been working with the Joker, for him, as a part of his gang of henchmen. Two months as _Harley Quinn_. Not that she had any idea of what he ever was up to, she doubted any of the men who worked for him did. Her apartment had become one of their hide-outs, where she stayed most of the time. He came by quite often, mostly letting her cook for them and store weapons and explosives, as well as going with his henchmen on lighter heists, always without the Joker's company.

Leaving her old life behind had been so easy, so swift. She never thought her life could change so radically, yet the change had been more than welcome. She had never had one certain ground in her life. This was a change that was exhilarating. Just like that, he had picked her up. Suddenly she had _understood_. She realized what he was talking about.

She took a step closer to him, a smile hinting at her lips. "They are the crazy ones. Mindless, the whole bunch."

Jonny, Brian, all his stupid gang of friends. The social workers, the foster parents, her own parents, those few fake friends she'd had in high school before dropping out, every single citizen of Gotham. They had all labeled her in their own ways, _destructive, crazy, bitch._

Harley couldn't stop the smile from growing on her face. Joker caught her expression, black eyes glancing at her just for a moment, a look she couldn't read, despite spending enough time around him to be able to differentiate between malevolence, amusement and irritation. His mood could switch at any given moment, from amused to brutally violent, and she knew better than to ever let her guard down in his presence.

Then, he chuckled, as if her words amused him.

Harley knelt down next to him, making sure to keep a certain distance, taking a chance.

"I want to be of help to you, whatever you're planning to do, J."

The last week had been pretty much uneventful, and she couldn't suppress the worry that maybe this was coming to an end, without her. That he'd decided he was done with her.

"Are you _bor_ ed, little _harlequin_?" He turned towards her and flashed his sick teeth, a warning.

She met his gaze, like a smoldering fire, threatening to draw her in. She pondered on how to answer, trying to keep her composure. "No, I told you. I want to be useful."

He peered blankly at her, making chills rush down her spine. At last he spoke, his voice mocking. " _Alllll_ this just to be free of your life, Harleeey?"

She ignored his taunting. "I want to know what it's like to be like you. I want to be _with_ you, J."

His face was unreadable for another moment, before his purple gloved hand snapped out and grabbed a hold of her arm, catching her off guard. He abruptly pushed her so she had to fight to keep her balance, her booted feet balancing on the edge of the roof.

Sitting next to her, his hand held her arm in a bruising grip. Harley struggled to get herself safely back onto the roof, trying to stand up, and he followed her movement seamlessly. He stood up, allowing her to do so too, still holding onto her, half of her balancing in the air. She knew he could let go of her any moment, and a voice inside told her he wouldn't hesitate, just like one of his henchmen had told her.

 _"_ _You know how it goes, right? As soon as he's done with you, he's going to kill you. He always does it in the end."_

His tall length towered over her and she felt her breathing speed up at his proximity.

His eyes rolled back for a moment. "Isn't that _freedom_ , Harley? Hmm?" He laughed as she fought to keep herself from falling over the edge into traffic below, his grip the only thing helping her to keep her balance. "The freedom you sought away from your _petty_ little _boring_ life. _That's_ why you're here."

Harley glared at him, forgetting the situation at his claim. She knew she must look pathetic to him, an angry girl half his size clinging onto him. Yet, he studied her as if he was amused by her, like he always did.

"Then why did you let me live this far?" she hissed, ignoring the way his grip cut off her blood flow, making her arm go numb. "Do you honestly think I'm here because I have no other choice?"

He seemed to ponder her words for a moment, scrunching up his face in a fake display of deep thought for a moment. "...Yeah."

"I could manage perfectly fine. I'd have killed Jonny and his gang by myself."

He raised his black eyebrows as if to say _oh, really?_

Not wanting to encourage him to let go of her, she let her voice become softer. "I told you, I want to be like you. I want to be _with_ you. Whatever that is, I don't care."

He laughed out loud at her claim.

Harley waited until he finished, then locked her eyes with him again. "I had no strings attached before I met you, I could go anywhere. I didn't ever call the cops on you, did I?"

He didn't look convinced in the slightest, more as if he was about to let go of her arm any moment.

Harley looked skeptically at him. "You still think I have a hidden motive, after all this time?"

Truth to be told, she did not have anywhere else to go, but her plans had been undefined months before they first met. Studying psychology was an option, one that she couldn't reach yet. It wasn't as if this was her only way out, no – she would have managed.

But the more time she had spent in his presence, she had realized how much of a bad joke the rest of the world was. How utterly _boring_ her life would be without his influence. She wanted to see what his next move would be, after all this time following his actions on television; she wanted to see what his idea of fun was. It was like a drug in itself, his volatile presence. Yet, his interest in her was strange, she knew he was always working on a grander scheme.

She couldn't interpret his expression, as unreliable as his expressions usually were anyway. He sucked at the insides of his scars for a moment, and she waited, knowing that her fall to her death was still a very real outcome of this situation. It didn't scare her that her life was literally in his hand, too focused on keeping his interest.

" _Well_ , Harleeey," he snickered at last. "Prove it."

His hands rested on her bruised waist when he secured her, his fingers harshly digging into her skin in a way that sent pleasant shivers through her body.

Harley steadied herself on the roof when he let go of her waist. She noticed her heart beating faster, the adrenaline slowly filling her, her body realizing the danger while her mind was otherwise occupied, seeing how close they were.

"What do you want me to do, J?"

His hands disappeared into his large overcoat, then emerged again and presented the square little object; the green circuit board gleaming.

Something like recognition fluttered in her chest at seeing the detonator. It didn't surprise her that she didn't feel an ounce of hesitation. She realized that he must have planned this outcome; as usual he had been several steps ahead of her.

She kept her voice calm, neutral. "Where?"

Something flashed in his eyes, so fast she could hardly be sure it was there. "Oh, you'll find out. _Prime_ -time tomorrow!"

Despite his jolly tone, his smile was carefree and dark. Daring her to object or try to back out, as if she ever would. He had already reached that point so long ago and she wanted to follow him, to reach that completion, that state of mind.

What else was the use of all that white body paint and red lipstick? She had started to imitate it a little, not enough to be considering straight-out-copying, just wearing dark red lipstick and black smudgy eye shadow that she had shoplifted, usually keeping her dirty blonde hair in pigtails. Her roots were showing but she liked it, it matched with his rough, rugged style, and she wondered if he had noticed her change in fashion.

Joker leaned closer, the smells of him enveloping her, sweat and dirt and gunpowder and something inherently metallic. One of his gloved hands traced her bare collarbones. It was the first time he touched her so intimately, and her breath hitched slightly.

Then his fingers closed around her throat. "Is the little lamb afraid?" he taunted, his face coming closer to hers.

Harley stared into pitch black eyes, first one and then the other, ignoring her racing heart and the electrical sensations spreading across her body. Then she pulled her lips back and let her body go slack in his grip.

She waited until he let go of her windpipe and inhaled before smiling back, flashing her teeth.

"I _can't wait_."

.

.

Gotham got their news with a bang. For any witnesses that survived, the images would remain for a long time.

She came swinging herself down the stairs acrobatically, a flash of red leather and dirty blonde hair as she pushed people out of her way into the platform.

"Here comes trouble!"

She skipped through the crowd of busy citizens on their way home from work – the underground metro station was filled at this time of day. Some gave her dirty looks, some went out of her way to avoid colliding with her as she pushed through, like an unstoppable force bouncing with energy.

She intentionally dropped something behind her as she went, cards after cards littering the ground and catching the attention of several on-lookers. If someone didn't move out of her way, she would simply push them away with a force that made them fall into the rest of the crowd and cause a minor commotion.

The overhead voice in the speakers announced the incoming train, time and location, and people stepped closer to the platform, mechanically moving about in their mindless haze. Harley had seen them do the same so many times, this time she was bursting with excitement about not being the same as them anymore. Conversations mixed up like a thick bubble around her, phones were ringing and in the mass of people.

Harley jumped down onto the railway tracks and examined the small, black metallic device that had been bolted to the rail. Joker's henchmen had done a good job. She was just about to activate it when a frantic voice called out to her.

"Hey you, get out of there immediately! Are you hurt?" A female security guard stood by the edge, walkie-talkie in hand, as she reached out her arm.

"Nope, I'm a-okay!" Harley winked and finished her work, not paying her any mind. She heard the security guard speak into her walkie-talkie. "I need reinforcement to platform 3. We have a person on the tracks, possibly drug-induced."

Drug induced? Those were the days. Harley straightened up and snickered at the accusation, then threw the screwdriver away so it caused a spark when it hit the metallic rails. She smiled at the guard. "The train arrives in one minute."

The other woman reached out her hand, panic visible on her face. "Hurry up and get out of there right now! This is prohibited!" she yelled. Some curious on-lookers had stopped in their tracks, gathering around.

Harley swung herself up onto the platform without help, then smiled slowly at the guard. "I think _you_ might wanna get out of here, like right now. Just sayin'."

The guard's face formed into a mixture of panic and confusion. For a split second, a thought went through Harley's head: why did it come to this? She was ready to step into _his_ world, and she would show him she could do it. Still, there was not a part of her that really cared about the strangers around her. Giving them a warning had never been a part of the plan, but in the long run it didn't matter.

She turned away from the guard. Then, as a trembling woman recalled in interrogation the day after, she gracefully skipped up the stairs again, after punching a guy in the face.

In the thick crowd of people, she was only noticed by the way she jumped on the escalators leading up to the street. She blocked the exit, trapping the travelers between her at the bottom, and a terrifying person emerging at the top. In his famous purple suit, broad shoulders, green tinted hair and a white face, there was no mistaking. The Gotham citizens slowly realized what was going on, a few screams of horrors starting up.

Joker smiled, a grimace that made several people scream and frantically try to back down, only to be pushed up closer to him by the escalators. He stabbed them one after one until Harley was the only one standing, and she was up at his level. Security guards were starting to flood the metro platform, looking for the disturbance.

Harley felt the adrenaline fuel her movements, making her blood boil with excitement.

The few witnesses then saw the next part of what they were going to recall later: the white-painted blonde smiled heartily at the Joker as they took a step away from the escalators. He fetched a small object from his pocket and handed it to her. She leaned against him with a big, childish grin, watching the crowd. The train rolled into the station as she grasped the object in her hand.

Then, she said " _Boom_."

The train exploded.

.  
.

After a hectic, sleepless night, police commissioner Jim Gordon opened the newspaper the next day to read: _JOKER RETURNS: involved in fatal metro explosion._

He didn't want to believe it, but the work they had carried out through the whole afternoon, far into the night together with the paramedic staff, fire department and the SWAT team the day before proved it. Joker was back on the streets and Gordon was back in his office.

After Batman's fall from grace and Dent's spiral into madness six months ago, the Joker had been successfully detained and sent to Arkham, locked into a padded cell. Gotham had finally started to forget about the terror, but that changed only three months later when the Joker escaped the asylum, in a violent attack that released half of its inmates to the street again.

For three months afterwards, nothing else had happened and many of the inmates were caught again – only the Joker seemed to have vanished despite Gordon's best efforts to locate him, along with the special team he assigned for the task. Joker was simply gone.

Until now. 21 civilians dead, 63 severely wounded, and counting. An entire city cowering in terror and shock.

"It's strange," one of his subordinates commented, "He's never been seen working _with_ someone before. He kills the ones who work for him without batting an eye."

Gordon grit his teeth, clenching his fifth mug of black coffee. "What's the message?"

"Uh, excuse me sir?"

"The _message_. He would never bother with something like this if he couldn't get all the credit for it."

Grimly he replayed the video footage from the CCTV inside of the underground metro station. There were also heaps of photos and videos that the media and witnesses had captured after the incident, everyone knew what happened.

The two clowns had dramatically flaunted themselves in front of the surveillance cameras, surrounded by debris as the tunnel had collapsed behind them. The girl did little spurs and pirouettes before bowing theatrically, and the clown himself laughed manically as he showed the device used for setting off the bombs.

They wanted the attention, and of course media had given it to them. Gordon felt his frustration growing.

One of his men re-read the report: "The place was littered with playing cards. All the Joker cards were painted red."

That sounded terribly familiar. "Anything else?"

"On the backside, the cards said _Ha ha ha_. We're still waiting for a more detailed report once they clear out the place. It took time to get everyone out of the chaos. Several of the victims had to be dug out of the collapsed tunnel, buried beneath rubble."

His colleagues were whispering as they watched the footage, commenting on how _petite_ the girl looked in comparison to her presumed partner.

Gordon slammed his fist into his desk and made them shut up. "The clown is back, and he appears not to be working alone. This must be his way of introducing his return."

He knew the girl was a new threat, someone to be investigated. She seemed really misplaced in the setting – short and slim, with high heeled combat boots and red and black leather clothing, dirty blonde hair in two messy pigtails. She wore white, red and black face paint that closely resembled the Joker's, a clear statement of them working as a _team_. Through the somewhat blurry CCTV footage he could see a gun holster on her waist. She smiled _so_ bright.

After everything he had seen, he could not imagine the Joker working with _anyone_. He murdered his own henchmen without blinking, just as he did with his enemies. Something was definitely off.

"Stockholm syndrome?" one of his subordinates asked, worry and disgust on his face. "Did he manipulate her into this, an innocent girl?"

"We'll find out eventually," Gordon replied grimly. "I need you to do all the research you can on her – any DNA matches so far?"

"No sir. We couldn't get any sample from her."

Gordon downed the rest of his coffee. "Either way, she's his accomplice."

Something more bitter than his drink filled him as he connected the dots. This was an _introduction_.


	5. Don't Fuck With Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harley has to prove her dominance in the gang.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're raising the rating!

 

"You know I'm under the influence  
So don't trust every word I say  
It's a blur, but I want my way"  
_Influence - Tove Lo_  
  


* * *

 

_First, I was at the mercy of society. Now society's at mine._

_He's an idea and I'm the one who reminds the world that he is. He's the bringer of chaos, the reflection of ugliness that is in you and me. He doesn't believe he's the cure or salvation, makes no promises. He doesn't make the world better or worse. He just is._

_And I'm by his side._

The glass door was pushed open with the ringing of a bell and he strolled in leisurely, with a slight hunch of his shoulders. He looked around for a moment, smiling friendly as if they all were waiting for him, while shaking green-brown tresses out of his face.

The guests at the small diner jerked upright. Their chairs scraped against the floor as they instinctively drew backwards in a panic, reaching for purses and bags. One man made an attempt to stand up, but the Joker waved him back again.

"No need for a standing ovation, ladies and gentlemen, do sit down," he shrugged as he set sight on the terrified woman behind the counter.

"Yet," he added with a little giggle. Harley blocked the door behind him, hands resting on her holster. She waved at two women sitting by the nearest table, hunching together with their hands covering their mouths.

The entire room was dead silent for a moment, the guests holding their breaths.

Joker sighed dramatically. "I ain't got all day, al- _right_? I need a phone. Ya know, ring-ring."

The waitress started looking around in a rush, before she brought up a small black device from her apron.

"Why, thank _you_ Carolyn," he said as he snatched it from her trembling hand, casting a vacant glance at her name tag. He gave the rest of the customers half a smile and a wink before turning around and dramatically flipping his coat around, skipping towards the entrance. A mumbling left his lips, like a sing-song in falsetto.

Harley kept her eyes focused on the customers and moved an inch to the side to let him pass. She had no official role to play in this simple job. They had all seen her on the news by now, but this wasn't her time to shine.

He passed her by without a glance, and when he was half-way out the door the guests drew their first shaky breaths for what seemed like a minute. Their rigid bodies relaxed half an inch, and the woman behind the counter let her sweaty palms rest against the plastic counter as the air left her in a gasp.

The Joker's disappearing back seemed to make the blood start running through their veins again; they could all see the vehicle waiting outside with the engine running – their demise had not been a part of today's busy schedule.

Harley straightened up, pushed her body away from the door frame she had been leaning against, and waved goodbye to the costumers. The Joker stopped a few steps outside the door.

She already knew what he wanted. "Mistah J?"

Harley turned her eyes back to the customers who just had dared to reach for their phones, and the head waitress stared at her with wide eyes.

"You want the money, miss?" she said with stiff lips.

Harley gave her a smile that was all other than friendly. "I do." She glanced at the customers. "Sit down."

She waited impatiently as the waitress started handing over the contents of the register into her open bag, checking to make sure her partner didn't try to bail on her. She found he was actually sweeping with his erratic eyes back across the room, meeting her stare for a fraction of a second. It was impossible to read his expression.

Then, the woman took another shaky breath, looking at Harley as she lowered her voice, presumably so the Joker wouldn't catch it. "Do you really want this?"

Harley lifted her arm that had held a semi-automatic gun hidden behind her back and fired.

It all went pretty quickly; the waitress was the first to topple over as the bodies fell to the floor and glass shattered. The chairs turned over and someone screamed.

"I am not a victim."

Harley put her gun back in her waist holster and skipped over to the counter. She quickly emptied the remaining cash, stuffed it into her black leather bag then snatched a lollipop from a glass jar next to the register. The waitress was panting quietly. She would live to tell the story, along with several of the wounded customers, and none of them would ever forget the sight, blood spreading over the pastel pink linoleum floors.

"Harley," Joker called, dangerous irritation lacing his tone as he moisturized his lips with his tongue.

"Comin'!"

With the lollipop rolling on her tongue, Harley skipped back to the van. He would tease her for not finishing the job properly, but she had other concerns.

She hated lemon flavor.

.

One could get used to anything. That was the foundation of human nature, a survival instinct. Any kind of pain becomes natural after a while until it merges with your skin.

The headlines stared back at her from every newspaper shop the van passed, screaming her name to the public, about the madman and his female companion that terrorized the city.

She couldn't help but feel proud.

 _"Why did you do all this?"_ they would ask.

_Because I was bored._

This morning's little trip had been a test, she knew. He was still testing her out, _assessing_ her. She felt closer to him in mind, thinking about the twisted situation. Like some kind of counselor he watched over her – but she was pretty sure he would never interfere no matter what happened. He just enjoyed studying her and it made her both unnerved and excited. She wondered what conclusions he made.

It also made her _understand_.

She knew that his cruelty wasn't committed for the sake of hurting others. He did it because he could, and frankly, because it was _funny_. Like an abused little kid who just can't _comprehend_ that his outlet of torturing puppies isn't good. He just did it, never reflecting. He had stripped himself completely off such petty things as _right_ and _wrong_ and she aimed to do the same.

His actions caused by boredom rather than sadism were much scarier. Once he had told her the story about when he surgically inserted a cell phone converted to a bomb into one of his henchmen's bellies. When he told her, shaking with laughter and retelling what he told the goon: _Bright, like Christmas lights, it will make the pain go away!_ she understood.

She understood that for one moment he had believed that story just as much as the doomed thug did. When he said things, they vibrated with truth for one short moment, and then they were shrugged off and shoved aside, riddled with lies and quickly rotting away.

He had tried to scare her with his stories, waiting for her to grimace and pull back with disgust, just so he'd have an excuse to drag her back with force. She had already grown immune to it, just rolling her eyes and agreeing with him until he let her off the hook.

She understood _why_ , and so she wasn't afraid. Most of the time.

Now, after retrieving the phone from the waitress, he idly pushed the buttons, sitting next to her in the back of the van. She guessed he was playing a game on it, judging by the fast beeping sounds.

_Why rob a diner just to play Tetris?_

It made absolutely no sense.

"You did good, Harls," he said, rolling her name on his tongue in a way that almost sounded perverse.

Secretly elated by the praise, she shrugged and smiled. "Did I pass?"

He suddenly looked up at her and grinned, showing off yellowed teeth. "Ab- _so_ -lut-eh-ley."

"So where are we goin'?"

Her head met the back of the seat hard, when he reached out his arm to push her. She glared at him, rubbing her head. "I get it. Your secret."

He snatched her lollipop from her, sucking on it with a fervor as he threw his legs up against the window and focused on his phone game. She leaned her head against his shoulder.

.

_"I have good news, Frances," Ms. Jones smiled. She wore a big, polite smile that had been put there, like her glossy lipstick in the morning. At least she was trying, compared to the other social workers._

_"I'm. not. Frances," Harley retorted, glaring back at her._

_"Alright, Harleen. It's a temporary arrangement until we've found something more suitable for you."_

_"You said it was going to be permanent this time. You promised."_

_"We had some unexpected… issues. I'm sure you'll be fine - you turned seventeen last week, right? Have you thought about your education after high school? Mrs. Evans told me you were greatly interested in psychology."_

_"I'm not changing my mind." Harley played with the pencil in her hand, twisting it between her fingers. The edge was delightfully sharp against her skin._

_Ms Jones looked through the thick folder in order to avoid eye contact. "She told me you're very bright for your age."_

_"Tell the bitch to mind her own business."  
_  
_"There is no reason to quit so suddenly. You can do something great with your life, all doors are open –"_

_"Is this a life you want?" Harley glowered at her, and suddenly the words overwhelmed her. Her grip around the pencil tightened as she abruptly stood up. Ms. Jones flinched, her well-proportioned face shied away and strands of hair fell from her tight bun._

_"To work yourself to death, dealing with people like me every day? Is that all? Just doing what's expected of you until you die, feeling unfulfilled and worthless? Just to fit into the system, doing what they tell you?"_

_Harley leaned closer, not lowering her voice. "Are you proud of yourself?"_

_The social secretary's bottom lip started trembling as she took a breath to compose herself. Her eyes were wide, Harley knew she was not like the colder bitches; she was the type to get attached and try her hardest to find_ solutions _. This made no difference in the end, she was just too weak. Easy prey._

_She could never understand._

_Harley pushed her chair back, making it fall over behind her as she leaned over the woman._

_"Frances, calm down -"_

_"Even if Mrs. Evans would have let me stay, she has nothing to say about me. She doesn't know me, she kicked me out! News flash, SHE IS NOT MY MOTHER! You can forget the whole stipendium. I quit. I don't want another placement. I'm gonna move in with my boyfriend."_

.

That was a time where she had been the teenage Frances Harleen Quinzel, left to society's devices. The tables had turned indeed.

She had been living with J for soon three months now, her existence was slowly but surely being acknowledged by media and society alike ever since the metro explosion, but as long as she could just be near him she was content. Even if she was just there to stand on the sidelines, taking care of the henchmen and the practical details.

There really was no logic in loving a psychopathic anarchistic terrorist, but logic never mattered. Logic was a word just like any other, and taken out of its context and stripped down, it meant nothing. She was secure in her surrender to him, their oath, and her commitment. He had told her the world was rotten, that civilization was just a joke.

_Show me, burn it down for me._

He had been more than happy to.

They had recently moved out of her apartment when their operation became too big, to an abandoned warehouse above a closed shop in the Narrows. The place was cold and dusty but Harley didn't mind. Her old place had been too suspicious, too small, and this gave her a lot of space away from the henchmen.

She was still unsure about the way there and paid close attention to which route the van's driver took. J had recruited a bunch of new henchmen lately, and they were given the task to move weapons, dynamite, napalm and all other ammunition he needed to their new hideout. Their driver, Spider, was the only one who got to work closer to J.

When they arrived to the warehouse, Joker immediately jumped out of the back of the van before Spider had time to stop. He gestured to one of the goons who was unloading a truck with the unsuspicious name _Chop Shop_ printed on the side _._

"Move it." Joker waved him away and jumped into the driver's seat.

Harley and Spider got out of the van and she swallowed a question. The last week she had hardly seen him at all. She would sit around with nothing to do, trying to keep the henchmen from picking fights or blowing up the place. Few of them respected her enough to listen to her, even less follow orders, which was a problem.

She had no idea what he was planning, and the thought didn't bother her, but his lack of attention was more grating. She felt like a henchman, no more and no less, in every sense of the word.

The Joker made a mock salute to her as he pushed the accelerator and the tires of the truck screeched.

"Watch the boys for me, will ya, Pumpkin?"

As the truck turned around the corner in a deadly speed, she huffed and placed her hands on her hips. "So I'm the babysitter now?"

"Looks like it."

Harley whirled around to stare Spider down, and he shrugged, walking towards the entrance. She followed the tall, slim man with fast steps. "Hey, help carrying the goods inside. It gotta be gone tonight."

"Sure, Mommy."

She smacked the back of his head, but he merely continued walking as if she was an annoying fly. Like the rest of the new henchmen, who looked and acted like they had been picked up from the nearest street corner, he was strange, even to be working for the Joker.

She saw him completely disregard her but she wasn't about to let him off the hook. She followed him to his favorite spot in the warehouse, sinking down on a couch and pulling out a lighter and a blunt. "Want some, Mom?"

Fuck it. She decided to give up on her misfit role as a nanny and huffed, turning away. "I've been clean for two years."

He smiled wryly. "This isn't the same. I'm waiting on a delivery, real stuff."

She nodded, returning a harsher smile. "So you decided to join this operation to get more dope." She kicked his ankle playfully as she sat down on the armrest of the couch. It was a miracle it held for both of their weights, they had found it outside a dumpster and one of the goons had formed an unhealthy attachment to it.

He put the roll to his lips and inhaled, glancing at her sideways. "So what's your story, lady?"

She almost laughed out loud, like they were sitting in a bar somewhere and not in this rundown warehouse waiting for the erratic boss to get back. She inhaled the thick smoke once, then got up.

"If you knew, you'd shit your pants."

He grinned at her; his friendliness was a nice change from the rest of the goons who ranged between hostile and ignoring her presence. "You don't look like a junkie, just sayin'. It's a compliment."

She rolled her eyes. "I had a _phase_. What about you, heroin guy?"

"Got arrested for mugging, but I was underage so I got out after three years." He looked thoroughly amused, spreading his body on the couch.

She had missed casual human company, the calm kind, someone whose next moves were a little more predictable. Relaxing a little, she said: "My ex boyfriend was in a cartel. He stepped on J's toes. And mine."

"So you decided to switch? The biggest dog gets the bone, am I right?"

In an instant, Harley had a switchblade up and pressed against his throat, staring into his eyes. He dropped the blunt in slow confusion and she crushed it underneath the sole of her boot, never once breaking eye contact.

"What was that?"

He held up his hands in an averting gesture. "Sorry, I didn't mean no disrespect, lady."

Harley bared her teeth a little, making sure he had both eyes focused on her, before she slowly withdrew. "Good boy."

A low whistling was heard from behind. She turned her head stiffly and saw that she had enticed a small audience consisting of three goons. They all stared at her, some of them letting their gazes travel lower.

Harley stood up. "No smoking and no lighters in here - there's enough to blow us sky high. _Get out_."

The most muscular goon took a step closer, eyeing her through small eyes. "Says who?"

"I do." Harley stared them down. "Unless you want Boss to throw your sorry asses to the dogs when he gets back."

"Well, he ain't back yet." He grinned and another man nodded, also stepping forward, hands on the weapons stripped to his belt.

"Who does this bitch think she is? Boss _favorite_ 'cause she got ass and tits?"

A dry lump was growing in the back of her throat, at the realization of the threat – she was armed but overpowered.

To her surprise, Spider got up from the couch and turned to the other goons. "Hey, Mommy's right."

Harley hissed. _Really?_ She turned her focus back on the other men. The possibility of them ganging up on her was very real, and she was more than pissed with J for leaving her alone to deal with them again. She found herself acting on autopilot, as her habit always had been in situations like this.

Pulling a bunch of cards from her back pocket, she held them like a weapon in front of her. Staring straight at the buff goon, she let her voice stay calm. "See these? One for every kill. Trophies. J likes giving me gifts."

She waved around a Joker card that looked different from the others with a ripped edge. "This one is for Chad. You know who Chad is?"

He shook his head.

"No, because there is not a molecule left of him." She let a giggle spill from her lips, seeing the growing discomfort in the man in front of her. "J personally picked him apart. He went _boom_. I've got a card for you too, Meatface, and all I need is to say the word. You want me to say the word?"

He took a step back, cursing, before leaving the room. Harley stared at the others, unrelenting, cards in hand.

"I said, _get out_ of here."

The grudgingly moved towards the door. Harley released the tension in her shoulders and let out a sigh when they left. It had been her last shot, she hated making herself appear in need of protection, but she wasn't in the mood to get herself beaten up. J was never going to let her live that down, for using his name as a shield.

"You're a good actor," Spider praised. She snarled and turned at him, making him raise his hands again.

"I'm _not._ your. mommy. If you call me that again I will dedicate a card to you. Get it?"

"I get it, I get it, Lady Boss. So what's the order?"

She raised her eyebrows. Asserting her dominance was more tiring than she thought, but a part of her was actually blossoming from the power trip. This was a good start, even if it was going to cost her big later.

She bit her lip, rummaging through the possibilities, before settling for the most essential. "Go get us some pizza."

He looked surprised, but then nodded. "It's just this tiny problem…"

Harley rolled her eyes and dug out a bunch of cash from her pocket, throwing it to him. "Tell Meatface and his midgets to stay out of my sight."

.

She banished the henchmen to the lower floor of the warehouse that night, enjoying having the main area for herself. There were a couple of couches there, a stolen flat screen TV, boxes with various illegal content littered all over. She and the Joker shared a room that was her sanctuary when she wanted to distance herself from the idiots, but tonight she wasn't moving for rush of having asserted herself was still running through her blood as she flipped through the channels.

Footsteps alerted her and broke her out of her state of mind sometime after midnight. She knew that way of walking far too well and her heart sped up.

Strolling into the room, the Joker greeted her:

"I heard you were… uh, keeping the boys company."

Harley went completely still. Trust Meatface and his little gang to snitch. She looked over at her partner, trying to read his expression and adjust her reaction accordingly, but he was completely blank-faced. It was impossible to guess his reaction: some days he would shoot anyone who even looked at her wrong, other days he would ignore her completely and not lift a finger if she got into a battle of dominance with a henchman.

"You told me to watch them," she said casually and lowered the volume, hoping he would drop it.

When he got closer she started realizing that maybe Meatface wasn't the problem.

He grimaced at her, peering into her eyes. "Makin' some new friends too?"

She stood up, meeting his swirling gaze. "I was waiting for you. I feel like a mother of ten when you're gone."

He huffed, showing his indifference for her situation. When he sneaked his hand around her waist and pushed her into his tall, lanky frame, she instantly sensed his mood.

She pressed herself closer to him, prolonging the body contact. "J, what's the matter?"

Without warning, he pushed her hard against the opposite wall. Her prepared arguments left her brain just like that, and she couldn't concentrate on assessing whether he was actually pissed off or just playing. Her insides tingled and her body tensed up in anticipation from finally having his attention again.

His face was inches away from hers, she could smell the greasepaint. He smiled. "Look at you, playing with the big boys. Harley the alpha dog."

She glared at him. "Don't be jealous."

"Me?" He raised smudged brows, and then burst out in laughter. "Me - _Jealous_? Did ya hit ya head, Harls?"

His body was pressed to hers but it didn't seem to affect him at all, while she was growing hotter, squirming against him to make him release his grip. He easily pinned her in place, grinning at her futile attempts. His reaction betrayed the feeling he denied.

She reached out her hands to the back of his pants.

"Well, well…" He laughed at her heated face. "You're really physical tonight…"

"You like that?" she breathed.

She knew he could feel her need as he put two smudged fingers over her clothed sex and pressed down, teasing her ever so slowly. Driving her mad was a favorite pastime of his. Bucking her hips against him, she hissed "jerk" as he put a hand over her mouth and leaned closer. He had never touched her like this before, he always left her hanging, cruelly teasing.

She wanted him to pull her hair back and take her, oh by the God she didn't believe in, take her already. To fuck her slowly into oblivion, for him to see _her_ instead of that Bat occupying his brain day and night. To own his focus for a little while would be the ultimate reward and power trip.

Maybe she was truly getting addicted.

Her hand grasped the object she found in his back pocket of his purple pants, bringing it up behind his back. His expression was threatening despite the amusement in it – he knew exactly what she was doing and he was waiting to see if she'd dare go through with it.

Oh, she did.

She felt his hand close in around her throat as retribution, cutting off her airways. Determinedly she flipped open the knife she had found and dragged it along his back, through his shirt, all the while feeling the air leaving her body. Soon her hand started trembling as the lack of oxygen became more prominent. She wasn't cutting deep, only enough to draw blood, she hoped, when he shuddered and his body tensed up.

Bingo. His body pushed back into hers suddenly and he made a low, guttural groan deep in his throat. Harley smiled triumphantly through the white spots clouding her vision, feeling her back pressed against the wall with more force than before.

The grip around her throat lessened and she could breathe again. "So," he said feigning a casual tone, "I see there was, ah, a _misunderstanding_ before."

"Make it right," she urged as she felt him tug at her black jeans. He easily wrestled the knife from her grip, cut through her skintight pants with more force than she had used – she felt the delicious tingles of sharp, warm pain across her thighs. Still, his movements remained firm and steady despite his heavy breathing.

When her strength returned she pushed her hips back against him, making eye contact, trying to get the knife back. He held it out of her reach. Her hands latched onto his back, sneaking underneath his clothes. She buried her nails into his skin as hard as she could, dragging them along the wound.

Like pouring gasoline all over herself, she knew the outcome would be explosive. There was no turning back now.

"Is Harley-darley angry?" he taunted her cruelly. One of his hands grazed her exposed sex, nails grazing it.

"Fuck you," she heatedly spat, baring her teeth and trying to push him away from her. He laughed at her attempt. She noticed his breathing pattern quickening and the glimpse in his eyes that told her that her little act had succeeded.

"As you wish," he grinned.

She felt his growing hardness through his pants, and her hips pushed forward again, just to draw back. He growled and followed her movement. A constant game of manipulation, back and forth, no one would ever win.

She scorned at him as he once again denied her friction. "I hate you."

His fingers dug into her jawbone, pain spreading across her skull. "Oh dear, what's hate but love with some friction?"

She didn't notice him unbuttoning his pants until he grabbed her both her thighs and spread them, still leaning her against the wall. She felt the ache in her back from being pressed into it so roughly, but the disheveled figure in front of her won her attention.

He caught both her wrists in his grip and pushed into her with one rough movement, finally ending her agony. Her breath staggered by the feeling of being so suddenly full, him pushing in to the hilt without giving her time to adjust.

All the anger went out the window, frenzied desire took over. She instinctively clenched around him, almost trying to strangle him from the inside.

She freed her hands to pull his head closer, hands entangling in matted brown-green hair, getting stuck in the knots and earning a grunt from him. She kissed him hard and his teeth broke her bottom lip with a giggle. Warm blood spilled over her chin and his tongue darted out to taste it.

He drew back from her despite her clutching him to pull him back, before he roughly thrust back into her, pushing her hips against the wall. His bigger form had her immobile but she reached her arms around his back.

His hard thrusts were quickly bringing her out of concentration, shattering every resolve and consequent thought; instead she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, her nails turning into claws as he fucked her into the wall.

Strangled gasps left her throat as his teeth moved to bite her collarbone, while her nails assaulted his back. When the skin was punctured they both groaned, and he pushed into her harder.

She felt nothing but him, inside her and around her, as if he was the very earth she was clinging onto, desperately holding onto. His entire being enveloped her, the smell of sweat and gunpowder mixing up with his body.

When he pulled back slowly, and almost stopped his movements, she panted against his neck.

"If you stop now, I'll kill you. I swear, J, if you stop – "

His chuckles rumbled in his chest and once again she was rewarded with pain, her skull hitting the wall particularly hard as he pounded her. His breathing was strained, matching hers, occasionally he grunted from the force of their movements as he moved in to almost _devour_ her mouth. The taste of makeup and saliva on her lips was almost too much.

Harley felt her climax approach with a force that made her light-headed and almost felt painful, from the onslaught of his thrusts. She became more aggressive with her clawing, feeling his mouth roam her body.

One of his hands started rubbing her clit, intensifying the sensations. Her mouth found the skin on his shoulder and she buried her teeth there as her orgasm hit her, feeling herself almost go limp. He rewarded her with a groan, assaulting the skin on her throat with his mouth, and she clenched up around him when he started sucking.

She felt him coming into her with one particularly hard thrust. Her hands tightened around him, freeing her legs and locking them around him. She leaned her head against his shoulder, sated, bleeding and sweaty. His warmth and her fluids leaked out from between her legs. She couldn't help but grin against his chest, clutching his waistcoat.

A searing pain on the side of her throat reminded her why this display of indulgence took place. It was a token, a gift, a reminder – she belonged to him. She might be the Boss Ass Bitch, but she was still the Boss' girl.

She kinda liked that.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave me a comment, it's my best motivation.


End file.
